Helpless
by TraceAce
Summary: Molly Holly's attitude is slowly changing for the worse, and no one seems to care. Except one person, that is...


**Helpless**

By

**_TraceAce_**

****

**A/N: **I was in an angsty mood, and I figured writing a Raven fiction always classified as a good idea when one is in such a mood. Spoilers from RAW (4/1), I'm pretty sure this one'll be a series or something.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone in this fiction; neither does Sarah. –rolls eyes-  They're all owned by other people not me, and I'm not making money off this (why would I? Who'd be stupid enough to buy this shit?)

**Chapter 1 – A Good Soul Gone…**

          So much has changed…

          The people I knew so well, even though it was always from afar, have all changed. The ones that used to be full of life are now dull, the ones that were innocent…tainted.

          It was how it always was, people changing at a blink of an eye…but I never thought she would succumb. Perhaps it was out of hurt for being looked down upon. I know I have seen her overhear the girls talking about how inferior she was…the idle gossip of girls who were too into themselves to see past their noses. It disgusted me, and perhaps that was why I truly only respected she and Lita, whom had never seen to join in at the useless banter of people who didn't know better. But, I did not blame them for speaking that way. After all, human nature makes most shallow and in need of speaking down about people to make themselves feel better. It was human nature to talk about people better then oneself. It was why I chose to watch then to talk, because through any façade a monster might lie within.

          There was a monster in Molly that I only saw, but it did not need a bad attitude to be invoked. She wanted it to come out, because she was sick of being picked on. Again, that indeed was only human. Just as a mouse found other means of getting food past the cat, she had found other means to try to prove dominance. I had seen it before, and knew that it only led to disaster in the end. It would lead to her ultimate destruction and would put her in a position that mirrored one of a has-been. No one ever got far being reckless and attacking blindly…and no one released the inner demon that way, if that was indeed what she wished to let free.

          I knew the feeling all too well, being looked down upon…and had learned the hard way that it left you more open for the kill then acting weak, especially in her case. Her change from sweet, innocent Molly Holly to a bitter, nasty shell of her former self showed that the words the people in the back had been saying was getting to her. She would be tormented even more, and hurt herself in the process. She was being true to her Holly namesake, though, I knew. She was growing intolerant to happiness, was growing to think that she didn't need friends and only needed to fight, even if the battle was pointless and therefore impossible to win.

          I couldn't bear to see that. It would be like letting myself die from the inside out. She was the world to me, even though she would never come to know that. I knew I could do no good for her, I was no good for anyone, and I accepted that a long time ago. I wouldn't even intervene with her current problem if I hadn't had realized after much thought no one else would notice or perhaps even care. Spike was there, but upon watching him he showed signs that he still held ill feelings toward his ex that weren't entirely unreasonable.

          But how? What would I tell her? Somehow I figured the lines 'Hello Molly, I know I attacked you a long time ago and we haven't talked since, but let's talk about your need to express your anger…' would only gain me a slap in the face that would mirror the hit she gave to Trish and would get me no more closer to my goal. It was a depressing thought that I could not just go up to her and tell her that even though she barely knew me I knew her like the back of my hand. Obsessive? Maybe. But I didn't mean any harm.

          Explain that to people and they call it stalking…and people wonder why I don't converse well with others. Still, it left the dilemma unsolved and me without a solution, it seemed pretty dim at that moment. With the unwelcome addition of my body aching from an unsuccessful title defense, it did not seem like today was going to be the day I was going to save anyone. I finally leaned again back against the wall behind me, my form covered in the shadows. My hair fell forward as I bowed my head to think.

          How could I get through to her? How could I even get her to look at me without disgust? She did have every reason to hate me, I could not disagree with that.

          "She's all crazy now."

          The voice caused me to slip closer into the shadows. I watched as Trish walked along with young Jeff Hardy. She carried an ice pack that was dutifully put against her forehead. "I know." Jeff agreed quietly. "But maybe she's under stress…"

          I knew Jeff was a good friend of Molly's, and Trish's for that matter. He was a ladies man without even trying, even with his strange sense of style. He was good mannered and friendly, even to me. It was exactly why I knew he would be one to stand up for her, even after the blatant attack.  They stopped sort of in front of me and Jeff seemed to look at her head.

          "Got a nasty bruise there." Jeff whistled. "She hit you that hard?"

          "Jeff, I was out for 5 minutes. They had to check me for a concussion." She stated angrily. Jeff sighed at this.

          "I know, I know." They started walking again. "I just can't believe Molly would do such a thing…"

          "Neither can I! It's like she's a bitch all of a sudden…"

          Bitch. It made me angry enough to scream. I felt like telling her that Molly wasn't the bitch; that it was her fault she was like that now. Hers and all the other girls. She wouldn't have had to change her attitude if not for them. I waited for them to leave to let out my pent up anger on an innocent wooden box that was near me. The box crushed in as my first hit it, the wood breaking into a million splintered around my hand. I pulled back, the rush of blood flowing down my hand making me feel almost as in a half-conscious state of mind.

          I could talk to her.

          Make her understand.

          Make her understand what? Even I didn't know. I wasn't one to go to for problems about being more of a friendly team player. I never pretended to be. Hell, I made sure everyone knew my anti-social tendencies. They all know I don't care who I'm hitting as long as it's hitting. So what words of wisdom could I bestow upon her? 'Don't go making enemies, even though everyone hates me.'? Right. It would be hypocritical of me to speak down of her actions when I myself had been guilty of them for years.

          And then it hit me. It was all so fucking simple.

          She would never want to be like me. No one would. All I would have to do is tell her her actions would leave her to become a bitter, joyless void as I am, unwilling to let anyone in, in fear of being rejected all the time. Such revelations would surely change her mind and would let her at least gain some of the sweet personality that I once wished I could have for just one second.

          It would scare her into turning away from being a freak, an outcast. I wouldn't wish it on anybody.

          I watched the blood drip down my hand for another second before taking water I had with me and pouring it onto the part. The water washed away the red liquid, showing the slash it was leaking from. It wasn't deep; it probably came from a stray wood shard. It felt good to feel pain. It wasn't even pain, even, not anymore. It comforted me.

          Nothing else did.

          I started walking.

          I didn't know where she was, didn't pretend to know. She might have gone to the hotel already. Gone to someplace that no one knew about.

          But she didn't. And she was there.

          Alone, hurt. The paddle was still grasped in her hand, in a fist that clenched it tightly, as if it were her unknown assailant that caused her to go over the edge. I wanted to reach out to her, I wanted her to not feel so alone.

          But I didn't. I couldn't.

          I stayed in my sanctuary, my darkness, and watched her, like I had been doing for what seemed like forever. It was all I could muster at the moment.

          It was all I could do, and I realized the true weakness that was embedded in me.

          The realization struck me hard.

          I was helpless, tormented to watch a good soul die in front of me.

          It shamed me.


End file.
